


the places you will be from

by blazeofglory



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6906862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin's soulmark was taken from him the second he was born. He's kind of given up on finding his soulmate, even if Ahsoka hasn't. </p><p>Enter Obi-Wan Kenobi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the places you will be from

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS! This fic has some really heavy themes and I don't want anyone going into this without being aware of that. 
> 
> • self-harm (mentions, nothing too graphic)  
> • depression, anxiety  
> • past abuse/rape mention  
> • eating disorder  
> • alcohol/drug use (but not abuse)  
> • suicidal thoughts (and mentions of a past attempt)
> 
> If there's anything else I've left out, please let me know! 
> 
> This all being said though, there's also lots of happy stuff in this fic! I tried to make it half happy, half sad, I hope I achieved that lmao

Anakin’s body is riddled with scars that he doesn’t like to think about. He hides them, as best he can, always wearing pants and long sleeves, whether it’s the middle of winter or the suffocating heat of summer. The only one who _knows_ is Ahsoka, and that had been on accident a few months into their freshman year of college.

They’d been sitting on the dubiously stained couch that they’d grabbed off a street corner, watching the Kardashians, and Anakin had been _happy_ , which is something he’s learned to savor when it happens. He had passed Ahsoka the bowl of popcorn that she’d insisted on making and his sleeve had ridden up, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of his wrist. Anakin had fought back panic, but hadn’t fixed it—there was no pretending she hadn’t seen.

So—Ahsoka knows what happened to his soulmark. Over time, he told her about the other scars too, the ones that were done _by_ him and not _to_ him.

“There’s gotta be a way to access your birth certificate,” she says now, a year later, apropos of nothing. Anakin doesn’t even look up from his laptop, still typing out a half-assed essay about a book he hadn’t bothered to read.

“There’s not,” he answers after a long moment, the resignation in his voice enough to let Ahsoka know that they aren’t going to keep talking about this. “I tried, okay? You know I tried.”

He’s tried everything. If there even _is_ any record of who his soulmate is, it’s being kept from him. Sometimes, just thinking about it makes him _angry,_ angry enough to shout and break things and break _himself_ , but now—he’s busy.

Ahsoka huffs quietly, knowing defeat when she sees it, and gets back to working on… whatever she’s working on. She’s been obsessed with soulmates lately.

After a moment, Anakin glances over, and if he looks closely, he can see Ahsoka’s soulmark, dark and proud and uncovered on her left wrist, stark black on her soft brown skin. Ahsoka’s known that name her whole life, just like almost every other person they’ve ever met. He knows she has this ridiculous notion that she’ll find her soulmate here, on campus, and she’s so earnest about it, he almost believes she’s right.

All Anakin has is an ugly scar, his skin still raised and pink all around his wrist. There was a name there, once.

He blinks and looks away from Ahsoka. He turns back to his essay and keeps writing.

 

-

 

Ahsoka proves him wrong, not for the first time, when she gets a face to go with the name of her soulmate halfway through their sophomore year. Padmé Amidala is beautiful and kind, and everything Ahsoka deserves. Anakin is almost more happy for her than he is jealous of them, though not quite. No, he’s self-aware enough to know he’s too selfish to not be jealous.

Ahsoka seems to know this too, though, and what’s even better is that she _understands_. She doesn’t bring Padmé around without warning, and they almost never get too sappy in front of Anakin. Sometimes, though, Padmé will come over to study and Anakin will be sitting on his bed and he’ll look over at the two of them on the couch—and neither of them are even looking at their laptops anymore. They’re angled toward each other and their hands are clasped, and Ahsoka is laughing, and Padmé is smiling, and Anakin _burns_ with jealousy. His fingernails dig into the flesh of his palm, the pain a poor attempt to anchor himself.

It had been easier to accept being alone forever—being unhappy forever—before he saw happiness every day. 

His mother didn’t have a soulmate; he reminds himself of that almost every night. She didn’t have one and she was fine.

She was happy. Well, no, she wasn’t, but she wasn’t unhappy because she didn’t have a soulmate. That had never bothered her.

He never feels better when he thinks about her.

(He wraps himself in loneliness like a cloak.)

 

-

 

“Does Ahsoka know?” Padmé asks him one day when Ahsoka is in the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone for once. Anakin looks away from the TV with a frown. Kim is complaining to the camera about Kendall and Kylie, and he’d really like to be paying attention.

“Does she know what?”

Padmé levels him with a fierce look, and Anakin swallows thickly. He regrets asking, but it’s too late to go back.

“I’ve been here all weekend. You haven’t eaten more than a handful of dry cereal.” Her voice is concerned, but not quite gentle. They don’t know each other well enough for this to be an easy conversation. Hell, Anakin doesn’t think this could ever be an easy conversation to have with _anyone._

There are excuses on the tip of his tongue. _I’ve been feeling sick. I just eat when you two go out. No, you’re wrong, you just must’ve missed me eating. I’m just tired._

Their eyes meet, and hers are shrewd. Just like a year ago with Ahsoka, there’s no sense in trying to lie.

“No, Ahsoka doesn’t know.”

(He wonders if he’ll get to keep any of his secrets.)

Padmé doesn’t tell Ahsoka, and somewhere along the line, Anakin starts thinking of himself as having two best friends.

 

-

 

Second semester sophomore year, Anakin signs up for a philosophy class to fulfill a general education credit. The first day of class is bitterly cold and raining—Anakin shows up late to the full lecture hall, at least two hundred students, with a broken umbrella, soaking wet. A few people turn to look at him, but he doesn’t pay any attention to them as he quickly sits down in the back row. 

He takes out his laptop, still thankfully dry, and he opens it to take notes, finally looking up at the front of the room. The professor, a middle-aged guy with long hair and a beard, looking every bit the ex-hippie philosophy professor Anakin expected, is still going over the syllabus, but there’s another man up there with him. A younger man, probably not much older than Anakin, with ginger hair and a well-kept beard. The TA, Anakin figures, and he glances at the copy of the syllabus that he’s pulled up on his laptop. His name is listed right at the top: _Obi-Wan Kenobi._  

Obi-Wan Kenobi is looking right at him.

Anakin shifts in his seat, fighting a blush and a rush of anxiety at the attention. He looks down at his keyboard, and when looks back up, Obi-Wan’s no longer looking at him. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or disappointed.

 

-

 

“Snips, oh my _God_ , you should’ve seen him.”

Ahsoka rolls her eyes fondly across the table from Anakin at the campus diner. The food is atrocious, but they’re already paying for the dining plan, so they drag themselves there at least once a week. (It’s easy to blame the terrible food for why he’s only picking at his sandwich.)

“You fall in love with every mildly attractive authority figure you meet,” Ahsoka points out, not even bothering to swallow her mouthful of fries before talking.

“Okay, well—” Anakin shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe. But he’s really, really hot. Like, so hot, even _you_ would agree." 

“I doubt it,” Ahsoka laughs. “I’m sure he’s boring and white and _very_ male.”

“Are you going to talk to him?” Padmé asks, raising a brow at him and ignoring Ahsoka. “And are you going to finish your sandwich?”

He shrugs again. 

“Maybe,” he answers both questions.

 

-

 

Two weeks pass before official discussion sections start, so Anakin contents himself with staring at Obi-Wan from the back of the huge lecture hall for the time being. He doesn’t know what it is about Obi-Wan that’s drawing his eyes. Despite what Ahsoka says, he’s not _actually_ that obsessed with all hot authority figures. He regrets telling her about all his high school crushes, though. And about that hot manager at his old job. But anyway—maybe it’s the accent he hears when Obi-Wan goes over the homework assignment after class, that gets him. Maybe it’s that beard that Anakin can’t help but imagine dragging across the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Maybe it’s those piercing blue eyes that always find his at the start of every class, no matter where Anakin sits. Hell, maybe it’s just the posh accent.

The first discussion, when the class is narrowed down to about 20 people, and they spend the whole time going over the finer points of Nietzsche, Anakin can’t take his eyes off of Obi-Wan. He didn’t realize he had a _thing_ for khaki pants, but he’s beginning to suspect he does now. Obi-Wan notices Anakin’s lewd staring, too, if his constant blush is anything to go by.

Class ends five minutes early, but Anakin stays sitting at his front row desk.

“Did you have a question about the upcoming paper?” Obi-Wan asks him, leaning against the front of the teacher’s desk. He’s only a few feet away, and Anakin has the irrational desire to lean forward and kiss those ridiculously pink lips, no matter how inappropriate that might be. Obi-Wan’s not smiling at Anakin, but his eyes are—they’re kind eyes. Blue. Anakin grins.

“No, I just wanted to talk to you,” he answers honestly, and Obi-Wan blushes again. It’s a _really_ good look on him.

“I, um, I don’t really have the time. I have another class to get to in a few minutes…” Obi-Wan hesitates, like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how, but he’s smiling properly now. “What’s your name?”

Anakin stands up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and steps around his desk. He’s suddenly very close to Obi-Wan, but he continues on his way to the door, only pausing once he reaches the doorway.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he answers, turning to Obi-Wan with a smile. “I’ll see you next class.” 

(He doesn’t notice the wide-eyed, shocked look on Obi-Wan’s face.)

 

-

 

The next week, Obi-Wan still looks at him during lectures. Anakin doesn’t know why, but something about the stare feels _different_ than before. When Friday comes along again, Anakin gets to class early and sits in the same spot. Obi-Wan looks up from preparing the PowerPoint, and he gives Anakin a small smile, but there’s something guarded about it this time. 

Halfway through the class, Anakin’s stomach growls so loud, a few people giggle quietly into their hands. He pretends he doesn’t hear them.

The fifty-minute discussion seems to last forever, but it does end eventually. Again, Anakin waits for the class to clear out. Obi-Wan looks tired when Anakin stands in front of the desk, but his eyes are still kind, if a bit wary.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips, like he likes the sound of the name. Anakin ducks his head to hide his smile, pleased that Obi-Wan even _remembers_ his name. “What year are you?”

“Sophomore,” Anakin answers, looking back up. Obi-Wan is fidgeting a little, twisting a thick band around his left wrist, which must be covering his soulmark. Funny, Anakin hadn’t noticed Obi-Wan wearing a cuff before. Anakin’s eyes linger there for a long second, familiar jealousy and bitterness welling up in his heart—but he stubbornly pushes it down. “I’m a mechanical engineering major.”

Obi-Wan raises his brows, amused. “A mecchie? I’m guessing you’re in philosophy for the gen ed credit.”

“You caught me,” he laughs. He doesn’t usually _click_ with people like this; the easiness of their interaction is almost familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense. “And _I’m_ guessing that you’re a grad student.”

“First year.” Obi-Wan glances down at his wrist, then back up at Anakin, smiling. “Barely older than you.”

“Still old,” Anakin teases, ignoring his stomach’s near-constant growling. The hunger pains are familiar and grounding; he hopes Obi-Wan can’t hear it. “Don’t you have another class to get to?”

“Oh—shit.” Obi-Wan looks at his phone for the time, then hurriedly finishes packing up his things. Once everything is settled, he looks back at Anakin, who’s still watching in amusement. “I have office hours Wednesday and Thursday from three to five… You should stop by sometime.”

Anakin hesitates, then nods.

“Maybe I will.”

 

-

 

“He’s flirting with me and I have no idea what to do,” Anakin blurts out to Ahsoka the second he gets home.

“Anakin,” Ahsoka says slowly, sounding very much like she wants to murder him. “We’ve talked about knocking.”

“Oh, come on, you’re both fully dressed—oh dear god.”

He’d noticed Padmé next to Ahsoka on the couch, but only now does he notice the blush on both of their cheeks. The dark hickey on Padmé’s neck. Ahsoka’s hand, hidden under the blanket across their laps.

He leaves without another word.

 

-

 

Anakin doesn’t go to class on Monday. Or Tuesday.

He doesn’t really have a good reason.

Padmé thinks he’s sick, so she brings him soup. Ahsoka thinks she’s subtle when she checks the medicine cabinet for razors. 

(Anakin is unspeakably grateful for them.)

 

-

 

After philosophy on Wednesday, instead of leaving with the rest of the crowd, Anakin makes his way to the front of the lecture hall, past Professor Jinn, and all the way over to Obi-Wan standing over by the chalkboard erasing the professor’s illegible scribbles, who looks startled but smiles when he sees him anyway.

“I don’t think I saw you here on Monday,” Obi-Wan says, sounding politely concerned.

“That’s why I’m here now,” Anakin answers, idly tugging the sleeve of his shirt down, hiding that last centimeter of pink scarring that likes to peek out. Obi-Wan’s eyes track the movement, and they linger on Anakin’s wrist, making him nervous. “I was hoping you could tell me what I missed.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan glances over at the professor, then back to Anakin. “Do you have a class after this?”

“No,” Anakin lies with an easy smile. What’s it matter if he skips one more at this point?

“Then let’s get coffee,” Obi-Wan suggests, and Anakin agrees readily.

Professor Jinn gives them a _look_ as they walk out that has Obi-Wan blushing and Anakin raising a brow. “What’s that about?”

“Ah, he just—well.” Obi-Wan’s eyes are distractingly blue in the late-winter sunlight, and his flushed cheeks are even more pronounced. “Qui-Gon thinks he knows everything.”

Anakin smirks. “Does he?”

“No, he doesn’t.” Obi-Wan isn’t smiling anymore.

 

-

 

When they get to the coffee shop, Anakin gets a bottle of water and Obi-Wan gets something frivolous and chocolaty that makes Anakin smile. 

The recap of Monday’s lecture goes quickly, and Obi-Wan says he’ll email Anakin the PowerPoint. They finish their drinks, and Anakin knows that this is the time he’s supposed to leave, but Obi-Wan hasn’t gotten up either. 

“So, what do you do in your free time?” Anakin asks. Obi-Wan tries to conceal a smile, but he looks so _happy_ that Anakin wants to keep talking, and Anakin feels his heart speed up. Who on Earth let this guy be so cute? God, his soulmate must be so _lucky_. 

“I read a lot,” Obi-Wan answers easily, and when Anakin snorts quietly, Obi-Wan shrugs as if that’s exactly what he expected. “I know, I know, I’m old and stuffy.”

“Well, you’ve got the hot teacher thing going for you, so at least there’s that.”

Obi-Wan blushes, and Anakin smirks. _Success_.

“I want to teach high school eventually, so I certainly hope none of my future students think that.”

Anakin doesn’t hold himself back from laughing this time, and it’s so _easy_ to laugh with Obi-Wan. “I hate to break it to you, but every single hormone-fueled high schooler you ever see is going to be attracted to you.” 

Obi-Wan ducks his head and chuckles, still blushing, and it is _glorious._

(Anakin doesn’t realize until later that he’d eaten the whole muffin Obi-Wan insisted on buying him without complaint. He almost doesn’t even feel guilty about it.)

 

-

 

“Have you ever thought about a minor in philosophy?” Obi-Wan asks once, peering over at Anakin over his cluttered desk in his tiny TA office. Anakin laughs, but Obi-Wan just shakes his head.

“You’re _good_ at it,” Obi-Wan insists, sounding so earnest that Anakin knows he’s telling the truth and not just being nice. “I grade all your papers, don’t look so surprised. You’re doing better than half the class.”

“It’s all a bunch of bullshit,” Anakin feels the need to point out. “I write all my papers in, like, an hour.”

Obi-Wan raised a brow at him, biting back a smile. “The secret about philosophy is that it’s all bullshit, Anakin. You should think about it.”

Anakin says he will. He doesn’t actually intend to, but he does anyway.

It might not be such a bad idea.

 

-

 

When Obi-Wan first meets Ahsoka, Anakin is so nervous, he thinks he might scream. It’s not like Obi-Wan is his _boyfriend_ , no matter how much Anakin wants him to be, but he’s _important_ to him already, and if Ahsoka doesn’t like him, Anakin has no idea what he’s going to do. 

He didn’t consider the fact that they might get on like a house on fire.

Within minutes, they’re both laughing and Ahsoka has her phone out, showing Obi-Wan their ridiculous Snapchat face swaps.

Anakin, feeling too overwhelmingly fond, doesn’t even feign embarrassment; he just pulls up the video he took at the last concert they went to and shows Obi-Wan Ahsoka’s terrible dancing.

 

-

 

“Look, Anakin, we need to talk.”

Anakin tenses, his hands freezing in his hair where he’s been trying to wrangle it into a decent French braid. Padmé had taught him how, but he must’ve gotten distracted talking to Obi-Wan, because he’s sure he messed up a step.

“About _what_?” he asks carefully. Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like I just ran over your puppy,” Obi-Wan says with a laugh. He closes his laptop and sets it aside on the couch, turning fully to Anakin, who’s given up on the braid and is running a hand through his hair, freeing his messy locks. Obi-Wan is smiling him in that adorably familiar way, half exasperation and half fondness. It’s hard to believe they’ve only known each other a few months.

“Then what are we talking about?”

“Oh, right.” Obi-Wan schools his face into a stern look, the likes of which he usually only inflicts on wayward students who don’t turn in papers on time. “I’ve seen your schedule, Anakin, I know you have a class right now, and you haven’t gone to it in, like, three weeks.”

“That’s it?” Anakin laughs and restarts the braid. “It’s just an engineering lecture, no attendance or anything.”

Obi-Wan’s face gets even _more_ stern, which Anakin notes he’s never actually seen before. It’s sort of impressive. 

“If it’s for your major, you really should be attending,” Obi-Wan insists. Anakin just shrugs.

“If I stop getting 100% on every assignment in that class, I’ll bother to go.”

Obi-Wan sighs now, tossing his hands up in agitation. “I don’t like you skipping class to hang out with me. I feel like a bad influence.”

“You, a bad influence?” Anakin snorts quietly, though secretly charmed. Obi-Wan can be a little ridiculous and protective sometimes, which Anakin has been _delighted_ to discover. In this instance, though, it’s a little unnecessary. “It’s really not a big deal, it’s just one class.”

“You could be missing something important,” Obi-Wan insists, clearly unwilling to accept defeat. “And it’s not just one class one time. It’s every week.”

“Hmm,” Anakin humors him as he ties off the braid and idly smooths over it with his hand, assessing his work. It feels like his best attempt yet. “This is the best time for us to hang out, though.”

“We could hang out other times, you know that.”

Anakin ducks his head, hiding a smile. “Yeah, but I like leaving class with you.”

Obi-Wan is quiet for a moment, then sighs a little. His eyes are doing that adorable smiley thing that lets Anakin know he’s really not mad. After a minute, he says, “I like leaving class with you too.”

Anakin is grinning now, happy and carefree. “Good, so we’re agreed. Fuck engineering.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head in despair, but he’s laughing and Anakin counts it as a win.

 

-

 

Anakin’s head is fucking _pounding._  

“Maybe you should have some toast,” Obi-Wan suggests, sounding concerned. He’s probably frowning too, all worrying and unfairly attractive, but Anakin can’t be bothered to lift his head up from his pillow to look.

“How did you even get in here anyway?” Anakin mumbles into the pillow.

“Ahsoka called me and let me in.” Obi-Wan’s hands are gentle on Anakin’s shoulders, massaging away the tension. “She said you weren’t feeling well.”

“Just a headache,” Anakin grumbles.

“Have you eaten anything today?”

Anakin doesn’t answer. Obi-Wan sighs quietly and strokes back Anakin’s hair tenderly.

“I’m going to make you some toast, okay? Do you have bread? And advil?” His voice is impossibly kind. Anakin takes a deep breath and finally rolls over in bed, squinting at the light let in from the window, up at Obi-Wan hovering over him.

“I’m not hungry,” he lies. “And I took advil already, it just hasn’t kicked in yet.” 

“You need to eat,” Obi-Wan insists, hands on his hips now. He looks so absurdly like a scolding teacher, Anakin almost wants to laugh. That would definitely make his head worse, though, so he just smiles.

“I’ll eat later.”

Obi-Wan looks at him for a long moment, then nods. He leaves without another word.

For thirty long, anxious minutes, Anakin wonders exactly what he said wrong to make Obi-Wan angry. But then—then Obi-Wan is back with a loaf of bread and a carton of milk.

Anakin ends up eating two slices of dry toast under Obi-Wan’s watchful eyes. It does help his head.

(Obi-Wan doesn’t need to know that Anakin throws it all up once he leaves.)

 

-

 

Padmé is a smart girl. Anakin likes to think that he’s pretty good at acting normal even when he’s feeling so depressed he can barely get out of bed, but she sees right through it. They’re sitting in her dorm this time, leaning against the back of her couch, papers strewn everywhere and ostensibly doing homework, but Padmé is definitely on Twitter and Anakin is scrolling through a Buzzfeed article that consists entirely of gifs of Kourtney Kardashian.

Without meaning to, he sighs quietly, and Padmé looks over at him.

“You’re off today,” she says bluntly, but not unkindly. They both put their phones down, and he sort of feels bad that he’s clearly making her worry, but he’s mostly just relieved that she noticed.

“Yeah,” Anakin admits with a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t know, I just—I feel like shit.”

“For no reason?”

Of course she knows there’s a reason; she knows everything, Anakin shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. He shrugs anyway.

Padmé motions for him to turn around and he acquiesces, scooting across the carpet and knocking a textbook aside so he can sit, legs crossed, in front of Padmé. She sets to work finger-combing his hair, preparing a braid. He wonders idly if she’ll go for French or fishtail.

“I’ve been eating more lately,” Anakin admits quietly.

Padmé’s fingers are as gentle as her voice when she says, “That’s really good, Ani. It’s healthy.”

He nods a little and she _tsk_ s him for messing up her progress.

They’re both quiet for a little. He knows she’s waiting for him to figure out what he wants to say.

“I think maybe I should get rid of my scale.”

Padmé hums in acknowledgment and keeps braiding, letting him talk.

“I just—I need to stop weighing myself, you know?” He stares down at his hands, fists clenched tight in his lap. “I gained two pounds and it’s like—I can’t tell in the mirror. But I see the fucking number and I feel like shit.”

“The number going up is a good thing,” she reiterates, gentle but firm. “But I understand. If getting rid of it helps you to stop thinking about your weight at all, that can only help.”

Anakin breathes in deep and lets it out slowly. He nods again, and this time, she doesn’t complain.

“You’re right,” he concedes. He consciously loosens his fists, then reaches for a stray pen and starts twirling it around his fingers. “I need to stop thinking about my weight.”

Anakin doesn’t say anything about it to Ahsoka, but Padmé must have, because the scale is gone when he gets back. He lets out a sigh of relief and tries not to think about the imagined extra weight on his thighs when he looks in the mirror.

(It’s a big step.)

 

-

 

When Anakin passes his philosophy class with flying colors, his final paper comes back with little smiley faces drawn all over it. 

He has a feeling they weren’t left by Professor Jinn.

 

-

 

“This is probably unethical,” Obi-Wan muses, voice laced with amusement and thick with smoke. Anakin giggles and takes the joint that he holds out.

“You’re not my TA anymore,” he points out, then takes a long hit. Obi-Wan hums in acquiescence, leaning heavily against Anakin’s shoulder. On his other side is Ahsoka, though she’s completely laid down in the grass, half-asleep with Padmé curled up against her side. Finals are finally _finished_ and they’re all relaxing for what feels like the first time in weeks. They’ll all be going home tomorrow except for him, and Anakin doesn’t know when he can see any of them over the summer with his crazy work schedule. He has to savor this.

“None of my TAs were this cool,” comes Padmé’s voice, sleepy and relaxed in a way she almost never is. Anakin smiles a little, full to bursting with affection for his three favorite people. They _deserve_ this moment.

“No one’s as cool as Obi-Wan,” Anakin responds, still giggling a little, especially when Obi-Wan laughs in surprise and bats at his shoulder. They’re practically _cuddling_ , and the world feels very quiet. Summer had taken its sweet time to arrive, but it’s finally warm and dry, and there’s even a gentle breeze ruffling their hair. With every soft gust of wind, Obi-Wan’s hair flies up and tickles Anakin’s chin, but he finds he doesn’t really mind.

Even the possibility of being caught smoking up on campus grounds isn’t enough to ruin this night.

“I think _you’re_ cool,” Obi-Wan mumbles a few minutes later, a little late but very earnest.

Anakin blushes a little, tightening his arm around Obi-Wan. “I think you’re high.”

Obi-Wan agrees quietly, then proves it over again by nuzzling closer, his lips just grazing Anakin’s neck. 

(When he shivers, it’s not because of the wind.)

The joint gets passed around again, then back to him. Anakin takes a long drag, then blows it out slowly. The smell is heady and his mouth is dry; his limbs feel warm and heavy. He lets himself imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to tilt Obi-Wan’s chin up and blow the smoke into his mouth, sealing it with a kiss.

 

-

 

Anakin thinks about kissing Obi-Wan a _lot_. He never does it, though; he would never do anything to risk his friendships with Obi-Wan or Ahsoka or Padmé.

He knows Obi-Wan is attracted to him, at least to some extent. Obi-Wan’s eyes linger on him sometimes, on his lips and neck and even once on his ass, and Obi-Wan always blushes. But—Obi-Wan has a soulmate out there. Somewhere.

 _Fuck_ soulmates, honestly.

 

-

 

Summer passes slow as molasses, and it’s _good._ Even though Anakin is the only one still living on campus for the summer, they all see each other as often as possible. He and Ahsoka even spend a few long days at the beach, on the furthest stretch of sand from the boardwalk, where they’re the only ones around and he doesn’t feel too self-conscious to take off his shirt. They soak in the sun and try to learn how to surf with very limited success.

Padmé drives out for a day too, and even though Anakin wears his shirt that day, it’s even better than before. She shows them both off with surfing, then gets sunburnt like crazy, which kind of evens the field. Anakin never burns, a product of long desert years, and Ahsoka’s skin is so dark, she swears she’d have to lay out in the sun for days straight with no sunscreen to come even close to a burn. Padmé declares this incredibly unfair, and that’s the point that Ahsoka kisses her, and they don’t stop for a while.

Anakin loves them so, so much, but—he looks away and takes his phone out of their bright pink beach bag. He has to wipe sand off the screen, but it’s probably fine. He hesitates for a second, finger hovering over the call button next to Obi-Wan’s name. His heart drops while the phone rings and rings, so sure that Obi-Wan must not want to talk to him, until Obi-Wan finally picks up and Anakin can _hear_ the smile in his voice when he says hello.

While Padmé and Ahsoka entertain themselves a few feet away, Obi-Wan sweeps Anakin up in a conversation about Tolstoy’s philosophical influences. Anakin could really care less about Tolstoy, but he _lives_ for the times Obi-Wan gets so worked up and excited, when he gets breathless from talking too long and some of his words blur into each other and he’s just so _passionate._

(The sun and sand are so warm, and, Anakin realizes abruptly, so is his heart.)

 

-

 

Summer comes to an end eventually, and before they know it, they’re in the library, fall semester of Anakin’s junior year having just begun. Anakin is on the brink of sleep when he slips up. It’s _hot_ in there, so hot that even years of habitually keeping his sleeves down has him reaching to roll them up. He realizes his mistake before he’s even got his right sleeve all the way up, but it’s too late.

Obi-Wan had looked over at him when he moved, and now his eyes are on Anakin’s arm.

He hurriedly pushes the sleeve back down, anxiety building in his chest. (He’s grateful, though, that it wasn’t his left arm. Obi-Wan doesn’t need to see the mangled mess that used to be his soulmark.

Obi-Wan doesn’t need to know that he’s going to be alone forever.)

“Anakin,” he begins softly. “Are those—do you—?”

Suddenly, bizarrely, Anakin wants to cry. He blames it on exhaustion.

“They’re old,” he lies, staring down at the grooves in the wooden table. He can feel Obi-Wan’s eyes on him. “High school was rough.”

Obi-Wan rests his hand on Anakin’s clenched fist, warm and comforting and _real_.

“They don’t look old,” Obi-Wan whispers, and Anakin can _hear_ the concern in his voice. Obi-Wan genuinely _cares_ , in a way that Anakin isn’t used to people caring for him. Ahsoka and Padmé love him, he knows that, and he knows he was his mother’s whole world, but—this feels different. Anakin wants to reassure him that everything is fine, everything has always been fine, everything _will_ be fine, but he doesn’t want to lie. Some of the scars are old; most of them are, even. 

But some are raised and red and angry. Some are less than a day old.

“They are,” he insists anyway, getting irrationally angry and yanking his hand out from under Obi-Wan’s. He snaps his textbook shut, hurriedly shoving it into his backpack.

“Anakin, wait—” Obi-Wan whispers, cognizant of the fact that they’re still in the library, and a few people are sending annoyed looks their way. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, okay? I’m just concerned, I love you, I’m worried—”

“I’m fine,” Anakin interrupts, shoving down the anger and the fear and the shame. He conjures a smile that he has a feeling isn’t very convincing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Anakin knows that Obi-Wan doesn’t have the words to make him stay. He sort of wishes he did. He hurries out of the library, phone in his hand, already texting Ahsoka.

[Outgoing 2:33am] he saw my scars 

[Incoming 2:35am] Obi-Wan did? what did he say? are you okay????

[Outgoing 2:40am] I’ll b home soon.

[Outgoing 2:40am] i have a feeling I’m going to do something stupid

[Incoming 2:41am] Just come home, okay? everything will be okay. I’m sure he’s not mad at you, you know he cares. 

[Incoming 2:42am] Please be safe, skyguy. me and padme are here waiting for you.

[Incoming 2:44am] please text me back

[Incoming Call 2:46am]

[One Missed Call]

[Outgoing 2:53am] he said he loves me. i don’t understand

 

-

 

“Some of this, I—I’ve never even said out loud. And definitely not sober.”

Obi-Wan smiles kindly and pats his knee. They’re in Anakin and Ahsoka’s dorm, though Ahsoka is at Padmé’s for the night. They’re sitting on the couch in their pajamas, and Obi-Wan’s hair is all ruffled. He looks adorable.

It almost feels like a date.

It isn’t.

(Obi-Wan still wears a cuff on his left wrist. There’s someone out there, waiting for him. Sometimes, Anakin wants nothing more than to know that name. Most times, though, he’s sure he _never_ wants to know. 

It’s easier to pretend the name is his that way.)

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Obi-Wan says, as calm and reassuring as ever. “I worry about you, is all. I want to know these things.”

“I don’t want to make you worry,” Anakin points out. Impulsively, he grabs Obi-Wan’s hand and holds on tight.

“I hate to admit it, Ani, but I literally always worry.”

Anakin huffs a quiet laugh. Padmé likes to call him Ani, and once her and Obi-Wan had finally met, he heard her say it and decided he likes it too. Anakin always whines when Padmé says it, but there’s something about the fondness in Obi-Wan’s voice when he says it that makes him like it. Then again, Obi-Wan could probably call him anything and he’d take it.

His mother used to call him Ani too; for once, the memory doesn’t hurt.

He takes a deep breath. Obi-Wan squeezes his hand.

Somehow, the words come out.

“You’ve probably guessed that I… had a rough childhood,” he begins hesitantly. Obi-Wan nods. Anakin stares down at their clasped hands, unable to look into those kind blue eyes right now. “My mom was amazing. She did the best she could for me, she really did… But we were poor, you know? And we didn’t have a lot of options. There was this guy—our landlord. He’d waive rent sometimes…”

There are already tears in his eyes. Obi-Wan says his name softly, as if to tell him that he doesn’t have to go on, but Anakin continues anyway. These words have been trapped inside him for so long, they _need_ to come out.

“He beat her. And me.” _He raped us too_ , but even Ahsoka doesn’t know that, and he never wants anyone to find out. He doesn’t need that pity. “I—I didn’t know anything else. That was my whole life. I was always scared, always out of control… When I was in high school, she died.” 

 _He killed her_. That was never proved, though.

“So I, uh, I bounced around on couches for a while. Then… got a scholarship. Came here.” He’s leaving so much out, though, and Obi-Wan knows. Quietly, throat choked with tears, he confesses, “I don’t always eat. Padmé worries, and I don’t think Ahsoka knows, but she worries too, and I know you’ve noticed and I—I don’t know why I do it, but I _do_.”

“Oh, Anakin…” Obi-Wan pulls him into a gentle hug. Anakin’s tears soak through his tshirt, and he feels so _stupid_ for crying over wounds that are years old, but he doesn’t let go.

“Not eating helps,” Anakin whispers, words muffled against Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “And the… the cutting helps.”

Obi-Wan strokes his hair tenderly, then presses a kiss to the top of his head. Anakin thinks he might be crying too.

“I want to help,” Obi-Wan says after a long moment. Despite everything, Anakin finds himself smiling.

“You do help.”

The rest of the night is spent in familiar, comforting quiet.

(He doesn’t mention what happened to his soulmark. He doesn’t mention the ugly scar, doesn’t mention the _pain_ he still has nightmares about, despite the fact that he was just a _baby_ , there’s no way he actually remembers it, and he doesn’t mention that if he has a soulmate out there, he wants it to be Obi-Wan.)

Obi-Wan still wears a cuff on his wrist. He’s never said the word _soulmark_ in front of Anakin before.

 

-

 

Obi-Wan doesn’t force him to eat, but he brings Anakin a salad a few times a week.

Obi-Wan’s touch lingers on Anakin’s hands, and on his back, and his shoulders, and sometimes a fond caress of his hair. Sometimes, he says quietly, out of nowhere, “I like you just the way you are.”

When Anakin feels fat, Obi-Wan goes with him to the on-campus gym. He makes them stop after an hour, feigning tiredness, and Anakin takes the excuse.

One time, Obi-Wan brings him a box of Hello Kitty bandaids.

Anakin really, really wants to kiss him.

 

-

 

“It’ll help you relax,” Obi-Wan insists. Anakin rolls his eyes for what feels like the millionth time.

“This is stupid.”

“When have I ever steered you wrong?” Obi-Wan asks, smirking in triumph because, of course, he’s right. Anakin had officially filed the papers to start a philosophy minor last week and Obi-Wan _still_ hasn’t stopped gloating.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he says anyway, determined to be obstinate.

Obi-Wan, unsurprisingly, is not having any of his shit. He bodily drags Anakin down the halls of the gym until they reach one of the many, many yoga rooms.

Anakin heaves the most dramatic sigh he can muster. He goes anyway.

(It’s almost worth it just to see Obi-Wan’s ass bent over in tight pants.)

 

-

 

Obi-Wan fidgets with his cuff a lot.

One night after they’ve been drinking, Anakin can’t help but ask, “Who is it?”

Obi-Wan looks up from his glass of beer, smiling and flushed and carefree. The urge to kiss him rises. “Who’s who?”

“Your soulmate.” 

“Oh.” His smile is gone as quickly as it came. “You really don’t know?”

Anakin frowns, leaning into Obi-Wan heavily. He’s so _warm._ “No? You never told me.”

“I really thought you knew." 

Obi-Wan downs the rest of his beer quickly, then abruptly changes the subject to rant about Mace Windu’s ridiculous ideas for change in the philosophy department.

(Anakin doesn’t drink enough to not remember this in the morning.)

 

-

 

“He said he thought I already knew." 

Ahsoka is frowning, her phone off and in her lap for once, her full attention on Anakin. If he wasn’t so distressed, he would feel honored that he’s finally been deemed more important than a round of Wordbubbles.

“You’re sure he’s never mentioned it?”

“I’d definitely _remember_ if he mentioned it.” Anakin sighs in frustration, agitatedly twirling a pencil around his fingers. “He’s never said anything about it, I’m sure. There is no level of drunkenness that would make me forget this.”

“Maybe it’s someone you know?” Ahsoka suggests, brows furrowed together. Anakin has a feeling there’s something she wants to say, but she’s holding herself back.

“We don’t really have a lot of mutual friends,” Anakin points out. “I’m not a big fan of all those stuck-up philosophy assholes. And _besides_ , I like to think he’d tell me if he’d already met his soulmate.”

“And he flirts with you…” Ahsoka continues, sounding just as confused as he is. “He’s so nice, he’d never flirt with someone else if he already had a soulmate.”

“I don’t _get_ it,” Anakin despairs, fist clenching around the pencil now, so hard it almost snaps. “Maybe it’s, like, a platonic soulmate?”

Ahsoka raises a brow, looking skeptical. “Is that even a real thing?”

A lot of theory says _yes_ , but Anakin just shrugs. “I guess? Maybe—maybe it’s Qui-Gon.”

Ahsoka looks even more confused now. “Who?”

“The professor he TAs for.” Anakin sighs. The pencil snaps in two. “They’re close, I know that much…” 

“But _soulmate_ close?”

“I don’t know!” Anakin feels bad for yelling immediately. “Sorry, this is just….”

“You want it to be you,” Ahsoka says simply, voice soft. Somehow, she always knows what he’s thinking.

He can’t bring himself to look up at her. 

Ahsoka’s hand finds his, and the broken pencil falls to the floor as she laces their fingers together. Her thumb grazes his wrist, running over the edges of the scar. He shivers; doesn’t pull away.

“It can’t be me,” Anakin protests quietly after a long moment. “I know that. It’s—it’s a stupid wish. But I—I do wish.”

“It’s not impossible, Anakin. If he thinks you have his name too, maybe—maybe he’s been waiting for you to say something, that’s why he thought you knew!”

“He would’ve told me if it was me.”

“You don’t _know_ that,” Ahsoka insists. “He doesn’t know you don’t know your name, does he?”

Anakin shakes his head. Ahsoka squeezes his hand.

“Look, Skyguy, I don’t wanna get your hopes up here, but…” she hesitates, then, “It’s really not impossible. You two are so close…”

 _I love him_ , Anakin thinks. He doesn’t have to say that, though; Ahsoka knows. Padmé knows too, has teased him about it a million times. Obi-Wan probably knows too.

“I don’t know.” His voice is quieter now, hope invading his chest despite trying to keep it out. What are the odds? His soulmark had been burned off of him the second he was born, he never knew the name… Even his mother had never known it. (How many nights had they spent up, holding each other and crying? How many times had she said she was so sorry for all the things she put him through? How many times had he insisted that none of it was ever her fault?)

The odds of him just stumbling across his soulmate don’t seem promising… That’s what happened for Ahsoka and Padmé though, and what he knows has happened for so many other people. There’s theory out there about that too, about the odds of finding your soulmate in such a big world, but nothing conclusive. It’s almost embarrassing how much Anakin has read up about soulmates, desperate for some way to find his.

“You should ask him again,” Ahsoka insists, her usual cheer bouncing right back. “Ask him _sober_.”

“Maybe,” he answers, and he’s not sure if that’s a lie or not.

  

-

 

Anakin is a mess. He’s a drama queen that blows things out of proportion and is prone to panicking over absolutely nothing and he just generally makes poor life choices—objectively, he knows this. In reality, though, it’s hard to push down that panic. It’s hard to ground himself in reality and remind himself that he’s loved and he’s not alone and he’s _not in any danger_.

His hands are shaking so bad, he can barely hold his phone, but somehow, _somehow_ , he manages to find Obi-Wan’s name in his phone and hit call. He’s sitting on the cold tile floor of his and Ahsoka’s bathroom, alone in the dark with his swirling thoughts and a rusty razor blade. The power went out an hour ago.

It’s not even raining outside. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan answers after several long rings, and his voice sounds so blissfully familiar, Anakin almost wants to sob in relief. He sounds worried, though, and tired. Anakin has no idea what time it is, but he’s sure it must be late, and he knows that Obi-Wan had driven for hours earlier, all the way home to attend a cousin’s wedding. “Is everything alright?”

“I—” his voice cracks a little and he clears his throat. “Yeah, no, everything is fine. Sorry, I—I know it’s late.”

“No, it’s fine,” Obi-Wan responds immediately, sounding a little more awake now. “I’m glad you called.”

Anakin smiles a little at that, but the tightness in his chest isn’t going away. 

“Ahsoka and Padmé are, uh, at Padmé’s tonight,” he says after a stretch of quiet. “And the… the power’s out.”

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asks again, voice gentle and painfully sincere. _God_ , Anakin doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Obi-Wan’s kindness, or his patience, or his love. God only knows why Obi-Wan or Ahsoka or Padmé love him at all, but somehow they do. He knows they do, even in the middle of whatever _this_ is; he feels like he’s going to cry or scream or throw up, but—but he knows they love him.

They won’t forever, though. No one ever has.

Obi-Wan is saying something else in Anakin’s ear now, but he can’t hear a single word for the blood rushing in his ears. _Obi-Wan is going to leave him. They’re all going to leave him_.

One day, they’re going to realize that he’s not worth the trouble. Ahsoka will want a roommate that can actually reliably pay rent; someone who can go out with her to clubs and coffee shops without having panic attacks when the crowds get too rowdy. Padmé will get tired of him never getting better, no matter how many times she’s tried to help him with his eating disorder. The both of them will move the fuck on but stay happy together _without him_ because they don’t need him like he needs them and god, _god_ —he’s going to die alone.

Obi-Wan will leave too. This is certain, and it has been from the very start.

Ahsoka stays because Anakin was her only person for years, the same way she was his. But now she has Padmé, who must only be staying because of Ahsoka. Neither of them need him. And Obi-Wan—he has no real tie to Anakin. Once he finds his soulmate, he’ll be gone.

Anakin is a distraction until that happens; he knows that. He doesn’t hate Obi-Wan for it. When they all leave, he won’t hate a single one of them.

“I don’t know how to be alone,” Anakin says suddenly, barely above a whisper, and Obi-Wan goes quiet. 

“You’re not alone, Anakin. I’m here, I’m right here.”

“You’re not, though,” he points out bitterly, tears stinging in his eyes. He doesn’t fight them when they start to fall. “And I don’t know if it’d make a difference if you were.”

“What are you talking about?” Obi-Wan sounds even more concerned now, and Anakin can hear a rustling, like he’s sitting up in bed. “I’ll be back in two days, you know that.”

 _But you’re not going to stay forever_ , is all Anakin can think, but he’s not far enough down the rabbit hole to say that out loud yet. The bathroom is so, so dark, but there’s enough streetlight coming in from the tiny window that he can see the glint of the razor in his hand. It would be so easy just to… _No_.

The last time he’d tried that, Ahsoka had cried for days.

“Ani, please talk to me,” comes Obi-Wan’s voice, jolting him out of his macabre thoughts.

“I don’t know what to say,” Anakin whispers.

“I need to know you’re okay.”

Anakin laughs in surprise at that—a harsh, sharp sound. “I’m never okay.”

“You’re strong,” Obi-Wan says softly, voice low in Anakin’s ear, and it’s so dark, he can almost pretend Obi-Wan is next to him. He closes his eyes and imagines Obi-Wan sitting across from him, his concerned face in shadow, but those kind eyes shining bright against the darkness. “You’ve dealt with so much shit and you keep going. Even if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I know you can make it through it.”

He can’t, though, is the thing. He needs them too much; all three of them. Without them…

Anakin is going to have to kill himself, he realizes suddenly.

There’s no other choice. He’ll be lost without them; suicide will be his only option.

Why wait until they leave him first?

He’s been quiet for too long; Obi-Wan sounds frantic when he says his name again.

“I’m here, sorry, I—” He has no real excuse. “I’m a little out of it.”

“Please don’t do anything stupid, okay? Don’t—don’t do anything you’ll regret. When I get back on Monday, I need you to be there and I need you to be okay.”

“I can’t promise that,” Anakin admits in defeat, running his thumb along the razor’s edge, not quite hard enough to break skin. He knows if he starts down that path, he won’t be able to stop.

“Ani, _please_ ,” Obi-Wan begs, sounding so wrecked and upset that Anakin drops the blade in surprise. It hits the tile with a metallic clack, and he shivers. He doesn’t pick it back up. “Me and Padmé and Ahsoka, we love you. _I_ love you.” 

“For now,” Anakin murmurs. Now that he has a free hand, he swipes at the tears still falling down his face. 

“What do you mean, for now? We love you for forever.”

Anakin shakes his head, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

“You can’t promise that, you know you can’t, okay? You—you’ve got a soulmate out there, even though you won’t tell me who, and—and you’re going to find them and you’re going to _leave_ me.” It’s too much, he’s saying _too much_ and he’s giving it all away, Obi-Wan is going to know—he’s going to know that Anakin is in love with him, and oh god, Obi-Wan is going to pity him and he’s just going to leave even sooner now and Anakin _can’t fucking breathe_. 

“Anakin, no, I—just breathe, okay? I’m not going to leave, I am _never_ going to leave. Just… breathe in, yeah, then breathe out. Good, now again…”

It takes a few minutes, but Anakin gets his breathing under control and Obi-Wan sighs in quiet relief.

“I thought you knew,” Obi-Wan says again, just like the last time they’d talked about soulmates. This time, he sounds defeated. “Anakin, do you—do you not have a name?”

“Used to,” Anakin admits in a whisper. He’s suddenly glad that it’s too dark to see the ugly scars around his left wrist. He glares down at it anyway—he’s seen it enough times to know exactly what it looks like. He can picture every inch of raw, pink skin. “I—I never knew it.”

“ _Oh_.”

“Obi-Wan?”

“I should have asked you that a long time ago,” Obi-Wan whispers, and suddenly it sounds like he might be crying too. “I wondered, but I… I didn’t know how to ask you.”

“What does it even matter?” He can’t help but be angry now, his words coming out harsh and bitter.

“I—I don’t know if I should tell you right now,” Obi-Wan says after a long moment. “I sort of thought we should talk about this face-to-face…”

“Talk about _what_?” Anakin’s anger is quickly being replaced by confusion. “You have a soulmate and I… kind of don’t, I guess. I don’t know. I’ve dealt with it. I’ve… come to terms with it.”

“I’ll be back Monday,” Obi-Wan says again, sounding surer of himself. “I’ll show you my wrist when I get back, okay? There’s—god, Anakin, there’s a lot we have to talk about.”

Anakin’s heart is in his throat. He swallows thickly and when he speaks, his voice cracks. “Okay.” 

“Now, listen… Where are you?”

“Home,” Anakin answers quietly. “The bathroom.”

“Can you get up for me, please? Get up and get into bed. Use the flashlight on your phone.”

When Anakin stands, his foot hits the discarded razor and it skids loudly across the tile. He pauses for one long, grueling moment, considering picking it up, but Obi-Wan’s soft voice in his ear is telling him to get into pajamas and pull extra blankets off the couch, and—and they’re going to talk about soulmates on Monday. He can make it ‘til Monday. 

Anakin does as Obi-Wan asks, and before he knows it, he’s curled up in bed with the covers pulled over his head. His thoughts are still a dark, swirling mess in his head, but Obi-Wan keeps talking. He talks about the drive, about his cousins and his crazy aunt, he talks about Padmé’s new haircut, he talks about the latest batch of papers he’s had to grade; he talks about anything and everything he can think of.

Anakin doesn’t remember falling asleep. When he wakes up and looks at his phone, the call is still going—if he listens closely, he can hear Obi-Wan breathing.

He stays in bed until he hears Obi-Wan start to wake up; then he hangs up the phone. He gets up, goes to the bathroom, and throws the razor in the trash. 

He takes a shower. He doesn’t eat breakfast, but a few hours later, he eats lunch. Ahsoka and Padmé show up sometime after noon, Obi-Wan texts him throughout the day, and—and he’s okay.

(He’s sort of glad he’s too much of a coward to kill himself.)

 

-

 

Monday comes faster than Anakin ever could have believed. It feels good to have Obi-Wan back, but he’s nervous. All he’s been able to think about all weekend is what Obi-Wan meant by everything he’d said about soulmates. He knew what he wanted to happen, and _god_ , did he want it. But Anakin didn’t want to give himself false hope. If Obi-Wan was his soulmate… he likes to think he’d already know.

Monday night finds Anakin and Obi-Wan sitting on the same familiar old couch as always. Padmé and Ahsoka’s voices carry through from the other room, and Anakin feels comfortable there, no matter how much his heart is racing or his hands are shaking.

He holds his left wrist out to Obi-Wan, who holds it gently. 

“I’m so sorry, Ani,” Obi-Wan whispers, low and broken. Anakin gives a small smile.

“I was too young to remember the pain,” he says, even though he knows that’s not really what Obi-Wan was sorry about. 

Obi-Wan stares at his wrist for a long moment before Anakin slowly pulls his arm away, staring down at his lap. He wants to see Obi-Wan’s now; he never, ever wants to see Obi-Wan’s. 

As if aware of Anakin’s internal struggle, Obi-Wan holds out his arm, and Anakin has no choice but to reach out, his fingers tentative and still shaking against Obi-Wan’s wrist. The cuff around it is soft, worn leather closed with a snap.

“Are you sure?” Anakin can’t help but ask, biting his lip nervously.

Obi-Wan just nods.

Anakin unsnaps the band and lets it fall onto the couch between him, and—and there it is. Obi-Wan’s skin is pale, his veins bright blue, and the soulmark is dark, dark black.

Anakin’s breath catches in his throat.

Obi-Wan moves his arm, and Anakin finally has to look away, so he looks at his face, and Obi-Wan looks nervous.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” Anakin says, meaning it to come out light and teasing, but it mostly just comes out breathless. Obi-Wan raises his hand to Anakin’s face, and when he glances down, he can still see the mark.

 _Anakin Skywalker_ , plain as day.

He looks back up, at those eyes he loves so much.

Later, neither of them remembers who leaned into the kiss first.

(They never forget how it feels, though. Their chapped lips pressed together, hands in each other’s hair, their faces flushed and both breathing hard after only a minute, the way Anakin moaned softly and the way Obi-Wan smiled against his mouth. They don’t forget how _right_ it feels, how it feels so much better than any other kiss with any other person possibly could have.

Obi-Wan never forgets the dazed, happy look on Anakin’s face when they pull away.

Anakin never forgets the way Obi-Wan blushes and whispers, soft and sweet, “I love you. I think I have from day one.”

And then, later, “Ani, I—I meant it when I said forever.” 

For the first time in a long time, they cry happy tears.)

**Author's Note:**

> You know that feeling when you re-read something so many times, you just start to hate it??? That's how I feel right now. 
> 
> PLEASE let me know what you think of this! It is officially the longest thing I have ever written-- almost twice as long as the fic that used to be my longest. I put so many hours into this, you would not believe.


End file.
